I profusely prayed for cold in mid-winter
for
the blossom of a kind of tree I knew all too well
was unnatural in January,
even in a Crockpot of a state as Texas.

While the mindless merrily praised what felt like April, when humid masses gust from The Gulf to engulf the Lone Star’s, May flowers with spring showers,
I remained sickly aware of the deceptively soaking sunshine’s sinister tone.

The Maker purposefully meant for our Earth to periodically sleep,
not for the horsefly, the ant, the gecko, or the snake
to constantly buzz and creep.
For the green, the furry, and the scaly to embrace dormancy —
to swear to slumber
in elaborate burrows and hollowed lumbers —
is for them to be empowered
to return more vibrant and to more awesomely tower than without,
for the sake of meeting His desired and full potential.
Such a profound process
is a testament of His innovation,
and, woefully,
is one man despises and/or ignores having to admit
he needs…to continue his very existence.

Without the frigid frost, stinging sleet, and slippery slope,
what would make us cling to each other for warmth?
Without the cold’s bitter, what would make us remember
the sick, the homeless, and the lonely old?
What’s a better motivator
to truly take the time to savor
steamed dishes and sheets
than sheets of thick encasing concrete?

So, the sight of a butterfly on a pollen search in February
made my heart sink me to my knees.
While the masses praised an unnatural state of 76 °F*******
and a pleasant southern breeze artificially forged by careless human activities furiously flowed,
I prayed for the process —
the only one our children’s children are depending on us to preserve —
to persist.

To say prayers were answered, when the arctic blast from Canada blitzed every creature to a name in February,
would not do Him nor His perfectly planned cycle justice.
The 7 days straight below freezing, including 2 in single digits that followed
did a better job acclaiming Him than any poem ever could.

His patience endures, even now, despite ungrateful moans and groans.

The only kind of Crockpot
going in a baked state
this week
is the one reducing and concentrating the family’s chili recipe,
to soon grace my plate.

From the Soul, 

“Cold Front in February (Poem)” is a piece from my upcoming published anthology, “Return from the Pale Trail: Gifts to Humanity We’ve Been Taught to Forget.” I’m ecstatic to share this wonderful piece of literature with all of my fellow literary enthusiast and to all the newcomers to the wide universe of literary art. I’ve been hard at work handcrafting this piece for 3 years because I wanted to push myself to provide my readers with the highest quality possible of a literary experience. Until its release, feel free to check out my other published works.